Pulling Strings In Your Heart
by Louciferish
Summary: Steve was defrosted much earlier than in canon, and two weeks later he attends a party in his honor at Howard and Maria's home, and meets their seven year-old son, Tony.


Steve knew it was a bad idea when he first shrugged into the tuxedo jacket. As the fabric pulled tight across his upper back, a sense of dread came to roost in his gut. He buttoned his collar, tied his bowtie, and felt like he was being shackled.

He'd had a whole two weeks to adjust to life as it was in 1980. Hia friends had spent nearly forty years searching for him, but Steve had to embrace a whole new world in fourteen days.

His bowtie was crooked, and briefly he indulged in a fantasy of Peggy, bright red lips curling in a wry smile, shaking her head and reaching to adjust it for him. It was a foolish wish - Peggy was married now. She had a son in college. Steve tugged the tie into place himself, then called it good enough and went out to hail a cab.

It was after eight o'clock, but the front steps of Howard's home - his mansion with his wife - were lit up like high noon. The topiary in the front cast long and monstrous shadows onto the street.

Inside was a riot of sound and movement. Cameras flashed all around as Steve stepped in the door, the debutante at this particular coming-out ball. As he moved into the ballroom, a few strangers in the front stopped talking, whispered, and then began to applaud. Within a few moments, the whole room was clapping as the band struck up a dissonant, electrified version of "The Star-Spangled Man".

Steve's body seized in an automatic flight response, but before he could move an inch Howard appeared at his side, grinning. Steve hoped for a respite, but instead of calming the crowd Howard grabbed Steve's bicep and pulled him across the room. The strange, bright people pressed in close around them. Hands brushed his body at every step and then Steve was on the stage. He stood stock still, feeling Howard's hand clapping him on the shoulder again and again as he made a speech about... something. Steve couldn't really follow the thread through the rushing in his ears.

Howard stopped talking and looked over at Steve again. His grin seemed manic, sloppy. He raised a glass of amber liquid in his other hand and some sloshed out and dampened his cuff. Steve stared at the sea of sparkling faces and they all stared back expectantly. Slowly, he raised his arm and waved. Everyone clapped again and then, almost at once, stopped and returned to their private conversations. The room seemed to dim. The band stopped. And when Steve looked over, Howard had vanished.

Steve found himself a seat with the other wallflowers. There were a few men deep in conversation with each other, a couple unfortunate older women, some pimply teenagers... Steve didn't exactly fit in, but still - no one was looking over here.

Any time Steve got up to get a drink or snag an appetizer tray, people stopped him. They put their hands on his arms and squeezed. They smiled, full of teeth. They thanked him for his service, or asked him about nazis, and Steve smiled back and nodded and realized very quickly that no one really wanted more of an answer than that.

As he stood by the buffet table, a young woman in a wide-shouldered gown stumbled right into him. Reflexively, he caught her, and heard her sniffle.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

She looked right through him, and he watched a thin stream of bright red blood slip slowly from her nostril. "Ma'am," he repeated. "Your nose. Has someone-"

"Fuck," she exclaimed loudly, cutting him off and shocking him into dropping his hands from her elbows. "Not another one." She whipped a thin white handkerchief from the tiny bag under her arm and staggered around him toward a restroom. Steve sighed, and went back to his chair.

Steve didn't know anyone at the party other than Howard, so he kept his eye on the older man. He watched Howard circle the ballroom, shaking hands. He counted how many times someone refilled Howard's glass when it wasn't even empty. He saw many women, and a few men, take Howard's hand only to slide their grip up his sleeve. Steve wasn't experienced, but he could tell what that meant - fondue.

Eventually, Howard circled his way over to Steve's little fringe. He was laughing falsely, close enough now that Steve could hear snippets of conversation - cars, "the war" which wasn't Steve's war but one of the many since, something called "the reactor", and then "Tony".

"Oh, he's around here somewhere," Howard said, looking around. "Tony?"

One of the older women near Steve suddenly stood up, giving a slight push to a small, dark-haired boy next to her who stumbled forward into Howard's group, clutching something tightly with both hands.

"Hey-ya, sport," said one of the white-toothed men in the crowd. "Whatcha got there?" There was a mumble, and the object got pulled up, away from the boy. It gleamed silver in the overhead lights.

"A robot," the woman in the red dress cooed. "Wicked. Does it fly?" The boy shook his head.

"Does it shoot lasers?" One of the men made a noise with his mouth that was apparently the sound of a laser. The boy shook his head again.

"Well it's real cute, Howard," the tall man said, ruffling the boy's hair, "but I don't think he's going to be stealing your D.O.D. contracts quite yet." Everyone laughed, even Howard, and the boy took back his metal toy and returned to the chairs.

As he turned back, his eyes met Steve's, and he quickly looked away.

Steve's watch said it was nearly eleven o'clock now, and the party seemed to be picking up instead of winding down. A whole group of loud young people in barely any clothes had only just arrived, and more people were dancing, though with far less coordination.

As everyone seemed absorbed in their glasses, Steve slipped out the side door and into the foyer. As he walked out toward the staircase his new dress shoes echoed on the marble floor. The noise of the party receded as the double doors slowly closed, but underneath that, inaudible to someone without enhanced hearing, Steve heard buzzing. He couldn't stop his feet from turning him in the direction of the sound.

Behind a small, near-invisible door, he found a dark stairway. He climbed down silently, feeling his way along the wall with his left hand. As he reached the bottom, he stepped into the light.

The large, open room he stepped into was full of drafting boards and metal tables. Pieces of wire and chunks of missile casings lay scattered across the space, and in the center of the chaos, seated on a stool as tall as he was, Tony was making the buzzing noise.

He didn't turn. He seemed to be wearing ear muffs, though it was perfectly warm, and his feet kicked against one of the stool legs periodically, dangling a good two feet above the concrete floor. Steve cleared his throat, but there was no response, so he moved in closer.

The buzzing noise was coming from a tool, which the boy had pressed to the back of the toy Steve had seen earlier. From the side Steve could see where Tony's forehead wrinkled in the same way Howard's did when he focused on something. Without thinking, he put his hand lightly on Tony's shoulder, making the kid jump.

With one hand Tony yanked down his ear muffs, which were connected to a little box with a thick cord. Loud music streamed from the ear muffs as Tony stared up at Steve. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to startle you, just... are you supposed to be in here?"

"Oh, Captain America. Wow. You - you're Captain America, and you asked me a question. Okay. The answer is... no. Probably not. Sorry. I'm pretty sure it's a federal offence to lie to Captain America."

"If it is," Steve smiled, trying to project calm. "It must be a recent addition to the law. It wasn't illegal thirty-six years ago. What were you doing?"

Tony looked down at the table and turned the toy over slowly in little hands. "I was just making some adjustments to this guy. Dad has some stuff down here that I don't get in my room, and it's hard working on something like this with manual tools. I didn't think the party would be over so early."

"It's not," Steve watched, fascinated, as Tony popped the back of his toy off with a screwdriver and started poking among the wires inside. "I'm just not a big fan of parties."

"Hm, me either," Tony said, meticulously swapping a red wire for a yellow one. "Too many people."

"Where's your mother?"

Tony shrugged. "At the party."

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Second grade?"

"Fifth." Steve gaped, and Tony looked back at him and laughed. "Well, at least technically that's where it averages out to. I don't go to school-school. And I'm actually still studying second grade history," he frowned. "But I'm also doing fifth grade reading, and seventh grade math and science." He shrugged again, and popped the back into place on the little robot. "I could probably be higher in some things, but the tutors can only handle so much."

Steve chuckled, and the kid's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Usually my nanny tells me not to 'self-promote' right about now."

"You're a smart kid. You should be proud of that." Tony looked smug. "So, who's your friend? Keep it simple if you can, my brain is still thawing here."

"It's going to be a helper now I guess," Tony said. "He's a little small, but he could hand you pencils and stuff? Maybe paperclips?" Tony sighed. "I guess he is kind of useless." He filled in the last screw and pressed a button on the back of the robot's head until the light on top was illuminated. "Robot, find me a pen." Slowly, with lots of whirring and jerking, the little robot moved across the table, bent down, and picked up a ballpoint.

"It's nifty." Tony looked at Steve hard. "No, really. How can it tell what's a pen and what isn't?"

The kid blushed until his ears were red. "I read an article in the Times the other day about 'artificial intelligence'? That's what he was supposed to be. He can recognize some objects, and certain people, and he can respond to simple questions. Good morning, Robot."

"Incorrect," Robot said haltingly. "It is thirty minutes past eleven, post-meridian. Good evening, Tony Stark."

"Tony?" Footsteps on the stairs, at a jog, and then the severe older woman from the party was striding quickly to the table. "Anthony Edward Stark, you are supposed to be in bed."

Tony sighed. "I'm not sleepy, nanny."

"Well then you lay in bed and read. You know that, Tony," she said, pulling the robot from his hand and handing it absently to Steve. "You do not come into the lab, and you do not pester your father's guests." She took Tony by the hand and hustled him toward the stairs as he stared back over his thin shoulder at Steve.

"Good night, Captain Rogers," Tony called. "Good night, Robot!"

"Good night, Tony," Robot said atonally. "I am your best friend, Tony. I will never leave you."

Steve stood in the empty lab, and clutched the robot to his chest.


End file.
